


Red and Black

by oneawkwardcookie



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, 911giftexchange, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Colors, Hopeful Ending, M/M, POV Alternating, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:00:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28017372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneawkwardcookie/pseuds/oneawkwardcookie
Summary: There's red and black, and then there's blue.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 40





	Red and Black

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madamewriterofwrongs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamewriterofwrongs/gifts).



> For the wonderful and witty CJ - a partner in crime (theoretical), musical and movie connoisseur, and all-round awesome person.

His life is controlled by the red and black. By the way the windows of the house reflect the bags under his eyes as he lets himself into his parent’s house and drags himself through darkened corridors to catch a glimpse of his son, by the formal letters that tell him what’s become of his life, by bills with numbers blaring out.

The move to LA has brought different shades of those same colours to his life. The flashing of alarms and the emergencies that follow, the smoke filled rooms that render his eyes almost useless, the elastic on the new glasses Christopher needs, the darkness that threatens to envelop him as he battles to keep his eyes open and listen to his son tell him about school.

But, slowly, his life has also been filled with blue. First it was the small blue slivers on the ribbon on his silver star, then the moving van that they packed their old and new life into. Soon he’s covered in it – the blue of his uniform giving him the security and purpose he’s been looking for, the endless sunshine that spills from the sunny skies, the gloves that he can peel off at the end of each call, leaving the red and black behind.

He’s expecting another blue on his first day at the 118, when Buck changes the bandages of the man lying in front of him, but instead he’s faced with a colour that fills him with a cold fear.

He looks up into eyes that have followed him into the jaws of death. He sees blue, and the war-zone recedes – he’s in LA and he’s right where he needs to be, saving lives one breath at a time. Buck asks if he’s ready and, for once, he is. He catches those eyes again once the grenade is out and lets out a sigh of relief.

Once he’s a safe distance from the grenade, he looks back at the man that had stood beside him as he stopped the world exploding again.

Even silhouetted by the night and the flashing red and blue, the words are crystal clear. Even the scattered pieces of red metal and the incredulous looks he receives can’t put a dent in his day.

Maddie’s eyebrows reach for the ceiling at the way he’s plated the food, but he knows she likes steak, and it’s half a peace offering and half a bribe, to offer to cook dinner once he’s turned up at her place. She’d brought out a bottle of red wine, her tentative sips and curious eyes over the rim of her glass just amplifying the way he’s gulping the liquid down, as though it’ll wash away the bitter taste that has coated his tongue since Shannon’s words had left him floored again.

“So… it’s over?” The words carry no trace of pity, only an echo of the resignation that he’s been drowning in. He can’t trust his mouth not to stutter out the exhaust fumes of unburnt feelings, that coat his lungs black and leave him alone and choking.

He nods and finishes the glass.

“You need somewhere to stay for a bit.”

He’s been bouncing back and forth between her and Chimney, so it’s not a question. He does need somewhere to stay, a home for his head and heart, now that Abby’s house is the past and he has no future to dive into.

“People just leave without telling you, move on without realising just what they mean to you, and you never get a chance to tell them.” It’s just another ship that’s sailed, leaving him alone in his lighthouse, swinging his light and left in darkness himself. Everyone has someone except him.

That night, he lies on the air mattress, and waits for the darkness of sleep to take him, hoping for a dreamless vacuum.

There’s an irony to feeling like he’s burning; not blue-hot but endlessly treading on embers. The night is the home of his heart now, the only place he can swing wildly and hope to catch hold of an anchor, but he never does - only finds orange lights and purple bruises.

Then, without any warning, there’s Buck. Standing in front of the rest of the 118, fumbling for words that come stuttering out.

He can’t stop himself, interrupting what’s clearly a planned spiel, and then Buck asks why he’s so pissed, and he sees red.

He’s exhausted, so damn tired of holding in all of his own problems. Buck’s not been around, not been there, and now that he is, it all spews out, right in the middle of the grocery store.

He’s grasping at straws, can feel it from the eyes on him, but he’s blinkered. The rest of the world fades to black and all he can see is Buck, standing in front of him in the most innocuous of places. Buck’s confusion just washes over him, along with his offer to visit Christopher. All that he can hear is an echoing cacophony of shouting in the background. His own voice sounds wrong. 

It takes the argument outside reaching a critical volume to knock him out of his own head.

There’s always another emergency.

Eddie’s alive, he’s trapped but breathing and _alive_.

He repeats the words in his head like a mantra, as though the million and first time he says it might finally convince his heart to stop pounding out of his chest, might turn Hen’s pity and Chim’s sadness and Bobby’s calm exterior into something else.

He should stop wanting things - it only gets people hurt. Mainly him, but now the universe has taken another casualty and it feels like he’s brought this upon their heads. His desires can only be buried, except this time it’s under 30 feet of earth. His tears well without dropping.

He knows grief, knows all the theories, seen and felt it enough times. That’s why a small part of him craves the return of the anger - the red-hot burst that might fuel him to ignore his captain’s orders and dig by hand, until he finds Eddie or is dragged away again. Anger would keep him warm, keep him fighting, keep the darkness at bay.

Instead, the flashing lights of emergency vehicles mock him, because they’re supposed to be the ones to help, and he’s never felt more useless in his life.

He’s too numb during the briefing, the despair closing in like the black of night and leaving him a burnt-out shell.

Until Eddie’s voice pierces the gloom.

The red of his suit is dulled by the coating of wet earth, blood plastered to his face like fault lines, legs contorted under the weight of his exhaustion.

But Eddie’s alive, and his heart sings.

The day is a chaotic one, between the sheer number of responders on the scene and the number of casualties. It’s a train wreck alright - an unexpected collision, scattered debris, wounds that’ll sting and scar.

Right in the middle of it, an upturned train car, tilted like the Titanic. He’s in it, of course, but although he’s listening to Bobby and Buck, his mind is stuck half an hour ago. 

The way Buck had followed Sam’s fiancée as she tried to head back towards the train, tried to stop her when she was stubborn and single minded, the way he’d looked so much more serious than he’d ever seen him, the way Buck had been stunned into silence when she mentioned her fiancé, the way the woman knew Buck’s name…

The pieces slide together as Buck talks about the promise he’d made.

Abby. His fiancée’s _Abby._

He’s already had a front row seat to this once, to Buck being stuck and waiting; he can’t face it another time, can’t watch Buck do this all over again.

Why can’t Buck realise he’s not expendable, not for anyone, and not least for people that would leave him without a second thought, without a proper goodbye? How does he not realise that Abby has moved on, doesn’t want him anymore? How does he not realise that the passengers need him alive, 118 needs him alive, he needs him alive? How does he not realise -

He’s not made it more than two meters away when Bobby calls to him. He turns back to see the concerned expression of his captain, gaze flitting between him and where Buck is looking at him with such confusion and betrayal that he loses his conviction that this is the way to get through to him.

“Buck, come on.” He needs Buck to do his job, to follow him, to stop wasting time when there are people that need their help.

He watches the ambulance drive off with Abby and her fiancé, and hopes that’s the last of Buck’s past leaving. Buck asks what’s next, and all he can do is follow.

Between the train crash and the flurry of activity that always came with the end of the school year (a strategic battle between Chris trying to get more or less homework, depending on the subject, and him having to co-ordinate with the teachers either way – thank goodness for Carla and her endless charm), he'd barely had time to catch his breath.

May’s graduation party was a gust of fresh air that heralded in the summer, and now he finally feels like he’s found his feet, grounded and fully warmed through.

The drive to drop Christopher off for summer camp is filled with excitable chatter, and he’s grateful that most of it doesn’t require any words from him. That is, until Christopher stops talking, and he looks up to see him looking out the window with a thoughtful expression on his face. He thinks he’s missed something, except they briefly catch eyes through the wing mirror as Christopher turns and smiles at him.

“Thanks dad. I’m glad we moved here.”

If he was warmed through before, there’s no memory of the cold left in his soul as he answers, “me too.”

He watches his sunshine drive away, and tries to hold onto the words from their earlier conversation, spelled out on the card in front of him. That must be why he’s got the phone to his ear, listening to the ringing trill out twice before the click.

“Christopher’s dropped off?”

He nods, once, slowly, before he answers, “yeah.”

Buck’s bouncing energy resonates even through the phone. “You want me to get the 118 together, we can – ”

“No! Wait, no, not the 118.” That’s not what he needs.

“… Oh, right, sorry, I thought –”

“ _No_ , I meant…” He sighs, rubbing the back of his hand across his forehead, as though that’ll help the thoughts come out as proper words. “Just… come over, Buck.”

He can feel the smile curved into the sound of relief. “Got it.”

Buck’s wearing a plum coloured Henley, and he’s standing at his door with a six pack of beer and a million-watt smile. He lets him in.

Neither of them reaches for the TV remote or a drink. It doesn’t seem necessary, but it leaves his hands unoccupied, left to curl and unfurl in his lap. The slipping condensation over the cold bottles gives him something to focus on, indicative of the slow passage of time.

Buck speaks up first, fingers tapping on his knees. “Things feel different now.” There’s more to it, so he just hums his attention.

“I finally feel free, y’know, like that part of my life” – one of his hands jerks up in a dismissive sort of gesture – “has ended. At last.”

Buck’s hands settle, gripping his knees. “I’m feeling good.”

“Good.” He means it, grateful for the closure that Buck’s found, that he’s made for himself from the rubble. He turns to look at him, and Buck ducks his head, a little red in his cheeks, then looks across at him.

“And you?”

He muses on the real answer to Buck’s question, the logical conclusion to where the last year has led them. “Chris is growing up – guess I’ve gotta as well.” Buck nods at him, swallows then lifts a bottle to his lips. “That’s just the future though, whether I’m ready or not.” He holds in a scoff, trying not to fall back into the doubts he's trying to leave behind.

“You’re ready.”

The red still lights up Buck’s face, but it's the soft glow of a dawn. He holds Buck’s gaze, wondering what this shade of blue means, how the black doesn’t feel overbearing even when it's all encompassing. What does it mean to want to fall into it, to be lost, or found?

“The future feels like it’ll be good, for us.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, kudos and comments are very much appreciated!


End file.
